


in which labels are finnicky things

by REVVIII



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Don't copy to another site, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-02
Updated: 2019-07-02
Packaged: 2020-06-03 00:24:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19452568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/REVVIII/pseuds/REVVIII
Summary: “We…we are best friends, right?”“Yes,” Crowley said slowly. His eyebrows were still raised. “I thought that was obvious.”“And…and best friends care about each other. They love each other,” Aziraphale said.“Yes.”Aziraphale frowned. “But kissing is off-limits.”“Angel, if you’re asking if you can kiss me –”“Absolutely not,” Aziraphale said quickly. “It was merely a question that arose out of curiosity, it has nothing to do with us at all.”That was, of course, a big fat lie.Or in other words, a 5+1 style fic in which Aziraphale and Crowley are Very Bad at reading signals and communicating.





	in which labels are finnicky things

1.

Six thousand years is a very, very long time to pine after someone. Of course, Aziraphale didn’t actually realize that he was pining for approximately the first five thousand nine hundred forty-odd years of it because he hadn’t actually realized that he was in love with the guy until then, but still. (Technically the person he was in love with wasn’t a guy, really. And technically the person he was in love with wasn’t really a person, either. But whether it was because of their corporeal bodies or not they’d both felt more like him’s than her’s or them’s for the last couple centuries, and “person” seemed to be the best fit word for the situation that they were both in, which, depending on which of them was the object of discussion, was somewhere in between seeming cross and aloof and being actually quite kind and considerate underneath despite technically being a demon, or somewhere in between seeming to be a do-gooder and actually being slightly bastardous despite technically being an angel. “Person” had no definitions or boundaries, and allowed them both to exist nicely in grayscale.)

And even if Aziraphale hadn’t realized that he was actually very much deeply in love with Crowley for the first five thousand nine hundred forty-five years of their friendship, that still left several decades years of _very aware_ pining that had occurred after that Grand Realization at the church, when Crowley had walked on sacred ground to save him and his books. And now they’d thwarted Armageddon, which he was _incredibly_ proud of since not many people, angels, or demons could say they’d done anything like that, and practically raised a child together, which he was not so proud of since it turned out to have been the wrong child and he’d turned out to be a complete spoiled brat despite his angelic best efforts, and even swapped bodies, which was strangely and almost uncomfortably intimate but entirely necessary in order to get their respective high offices to leave them alone, and he was _still_ pining.

Because there was no way Crowley felt the same. Absolutely no way. Sure, Aziraphale felt quite a lot of love whenever he was around Crowley, but most of that came from himself, of course, and whatever else was left was just how Crowley felt all the time. Because Crowley was a good demon who did actually care about things, and Crowley saw him as a friend, that’s all – that’s what he said at the pub, wasn’t it? _“I lost my best friend.”_

Yes. Best friend. That was it.

And Aziraphale would be okay with that, he thought. He’d survived the last six thousand years like that, hadn’t he? There was no reason to think that he couldn’t survive the rest of eternity the same way. And being Crowley’s best friend was hardly just _surviving_ – the thought that the demon cared enough about him to admit that, enough to have almost fallen apart when he thought Aziraphale was dead and that they would never see each other again –

Well, Aziraphale couldn’t actually think too much about that, because it made him ache inside in both good and bad ways to think about how much Crowley had been hurt and about how much Crowley must have cared in order to hurt.

“Were you talking about me?” Aziraphale had asked on the Seventeenth Day of the Rest of Their Lives. They were having a picnic in the countryside where Crowley had driven them for the day, enjoying finely aged wine and some rather marvelous crepes that Crowley had demon-miracled into staying warm. The sun was out, there was a comfortable slight breeze that swept through the air, and the question had simply slipped out.

Crowley had frowned and gave Aziraphale a puzzled look. “When?”

Aziraphale took a bite of his crepe to distract himself from the sudden fluttering of his heart and to give him a little more time to muster up the courage to continue the conversation that he hadn’t consciously intended to start. “Back at the pub,” he said, because it was too late to back out now.

“Angel, I’ve been to a lot of pubs recently, you’re gonna have to be more specific.”

“Ah. Well.” Aziraphale swallowed. “It was a little more than two weeks ago.”

Crowley’s frown deepened. “Two weeks ago…oh, so around Armageddon, you mean.”

“Yes.” Aziraphale swallowed again. “It was that specific day, actually.”

“Hm. A lot happened that day, I don’t even remember if there was a pub,” Crowley said, almost casually. “Honestly, there probably was, knowing me. But if I was there, I probably spent a lot of time drunk out of my mind because –” He broke off suddenly, his entire body stilling and becoming rather more tense than it had been before.

“Yes,” Aziraphale said, and risked a glance at the demon. His expression was even more unreadable than usual, but Aziraphale had no doubt Crowley knew exactly what he was talking about.

“What exactly did I say again?” Crowley asked.

Aziraphale took a deep breath, trying to still the pounding of his heart at the memory of the demon’s words. “You said – you said that you didn’t run away to Alpha Centauri. You said that you…lost your best friend.” He paused, glancing at Crowley again when the demon was silent for longer than he usually was. “Did you…did you mean me?”

“I don’t like thinking about it, Angel,” Crowley said finally, without looking at him.

“Ah. Sorry,” Aziraphale murmured, also looking away and trying not to feel too horribly dejected.

There was a moment of silence.

“Yes,” Crowley said after the pause. “Yes, I meant you.” He looked over at Aziraphale, and the corners of his lips were curving into a small smile. “Who else would I mean?”

So that had been that. On the Seventeenth Day of the Rest of Their Lives, it had been firmly and clearly established that Crowley and Aziraphale were best friends. Crowley seemed to feel like nothing had changed, but Aziraphale was elated. It was such a wonderful, momentous, glorious event that he felt that there _must_ have been a prophecy about it, and he was rather disappointed when he asked Anathema and she said that she had seen nothing of the sort. But he was _absolutely_ sure he could live the rest of eternity as Crowley’s best friend. “Best friend” was wonderful. “Best friend” was more than he could have ever hoped for.

2.

“Are you ever afraid that you’re gonna fall?” Crowley asked one day, as they walked by the side of the Thames. He had a slice of bread left over from wherever he’d been before Aziraphale had found him and was currently tearing off small pieces and tossing them at the gaggle of ducks not far below them in the river.

“You know that’s bad for them,” Aziraphale said, about the ducks eating the bread.

“Miracle them back to health, then,” Crowley retorted. “And don’t dodge the question.”

Aziraphale huffed, waving his hand and returning all of the ducks in the vicinity to their full, optimal health.

“Answer me, Angel. Are you ever afraid that you’re gonna fall?” Crowley asked again.

“Fall?”

“Yeah. Y’know, like me.”

Aziraphale blinked in confusion. “What for?”

Crowley shrugged. He was still tearing his piece of bread into small pieces, but at least he wasn’t throwing them at the ducks anymore. He was dropping them instead, and they went up in small little bursts of flame on their way down. “I dunno. For hanging with me, I guess. That’s how I Fell, wasn’t it? Hung around the wrong sort?”

Aziraphale had, in fact, asked himself several times over the last few millennia of his friendship with Crowley just how far Heaven would be willing to let this friendship go before kicking him out for good. Talking to the enemy was one thing; “fraternizing” with them was another. And now he and Crowley were best friends – that was on a whole other level.

“They were stricter back then,” Aziraphale said.

Crowley shrugged.

“And they seem to be leaving us alone now,” Aziraphale continued.

“Still, there’s got to be a line somewhere,” Crowley said. He wasn’t looking at Aziraphale.

“I suppose,” Aziraphale admitted. He glanced at Crowley. “Why the sudden worry?”

Crowley shrugged yet again. He had run out of bread to tear, now, and settled for shoving his hands into his pockets. “I dunno. Just…something I’d been thinking about recently.” He paused. “I didn’t really know it was happening until it was too late, you know,” he said. “Until I was actually Falling. I just asked too many questions, spent too much time around the wrong sort, and then suddenly Heaven decided that it’d had enough and I was burning. Not enough to kill me, obviously, but it felt like it. My body, my mind, my wings…everything was burning. And even now, I think I’m the only Fallen angel that actually still regrets Falling.” He paused again, glanced at Aziraphale. “It sucks, Angel, even after all these years. I wouldn’t want that to happen to you.”

“It wouldn’t matter to me,” Aziraphale said quietly, almost immediately; a confession that slipped out from between his lips.

Crowley faltered. “Wouldn’t matter?”

“Why would it?” Aziraphale asked. “It’s not as if I would never see you again. I’d have to change all of my priorities, of course, and start subscribing a bit more to temptation and sin and all that, but in the end, we’d both still be here.” He paused. “I don’t feel like I really fit in with my lot, anyway, especially since Arm – since I found out that they wanted the war. Not that I fit in with your lot,” he added quickly. “I just…exist somewhere in between. On our side, as you put it.”

Crowley glanced at him; the Thames should have reflected off of his sunglasses at this angle, but it didn’t. “On our side,” he echoed.

“Yes,” Aziraphale said, a distant part of him aware that this was the first time he’d said out loud that he was on their side. “And I suppose you feel similarly, too, considering that you’re a demon but you’re really quite kind and considerate at heart. Don’t think you fool me, Crowley; we’re both soft. I suppose all that really matters is that we stay on the same side, and if that side is neither with Heaven nor Hell, it doesn’t really matter if we’re both Fallen or not, does it?”

There were a few moments of silence, during which Aziraphale realized that they had both stopped walking, and that they were both staring at each other. He suddenly felt uncomfortably hot, as if he were dangling himself very close to the edge of a cliff of confessions, all of which had to do with Crowley and how much Aziraphale felt that he would be willing to do for him (much of which he hadn’t allowed himself to think about until very recently, when their high offices started leaving them alone). He also realized that he had just confessed rather a lot just now, and that there was something in Crowley’s expression that he couldn’t read.

And then Crowley cleared his throat, and the moment was over, and they kept walking.

“That was all very touching, Angel,” he said, and he was grinning now. “But I like you the way you are, so just try your best to stay that way, eh?”

3.

It was becoming increasingly difficult for Aziraphale to believe that being Crowley’s best friend was more than he ever could have hoped for.

The last time they’d gone out it had been Crowley’s turn to pick their adventure, and he had taken them to a theme park. Theme parks were big, complicated things that both Heaven and Hell took credit for (albeit for different parts), but Aziraphale had never really liked them, even the more angelic aspects. The general aura of joy and excitement was wonderful, he supposed, but personally he felt that people spent hours in line for a ride that was far too fast, the walkways and paths were all far too dirty and far too crowded, and all of the food was far too overpriced and not nearly good enough to be worth even half the price. Nevertheless, Crowley loved them, so Aziraphale went and tried to make himself love them too.

But now they were at a ball, because it had been Aziraphale’s turn to pick. He didn’t particularly know how to dance properly at a ball because none of the dances were the gavotte, but he liked the ambiance of it, and the music was really quite nice too. The abundance of champagne and snacks were another major plus. The fact that it was a masquerade ball (and therefore, had suffered more than a few demonic touches before it reached its current form) made no difference to him.

“I rather fancy another one of those flatbreads,” Aziraphale said. It was near the end of the night and both he and Crowley were slightly less than sober. They were the only two outside on this particular balcony overlooking the lake behind the house; everyone else at the ball avoided it because of very strong feelings that they might have later described as Not Wanting to Intrude on a Private Moment. “I think I’m going to go look for that tall young man who was carrying them around earlier.”

“Want me to come with?” Crowley asked. He was rather dashing in his all-black suit and gilded gold mask, and all of it had been demon-miracled into existence as usual. He really had quite the imagination, Aziraphale thought.

“No, it’s alright,” Aziraphale said. “I’ll be back in a jiffy. You want anything?”

“Nah,” Crowley said, waving his hand dismissively. “Oh wait, if you see any of those little crab thingies, those were surprisingly good.”

“I’ll keep an eye out for them,” Aziraphale promised. He headed downstairs towards where he had last seen a slightly larger gathering of servers earlier in the night, and just as he rounded the corner towards the top of the stairs, he passed a small, sheltered alcove where two young men were seemingly joined at the mouth.

Aziraphale stopped. He knew was kissing was, thank you very much, and he hadn’t been so disinterested in all six thousand years of existing in this corporeal form that he hadn’t ever paid attention to it at all, but this was the first time it had actually stopped him in his tracks.

One of the men was sitting on the other’s lap, and their bodies were curling in towards each other, their hands roaming and their eyes closed. Soft noises were coming from each other their mouths, and there was such a strong feeling of _love_ in the air that Aziraphale felt his breath hitch in his throat.

Inexplicably (or so he told himself), he thought of Crowley. He thought about what it would be like to feel the demon’s lips pressed against his own, what it would be like to be so close to him. He wondered if the demon would smell different if he were that close, or if he would feel the demon’s corporeal pulse as clearly as he imagined he would. He wondered if Crowley would be okay with it, and then he wondered why he was thinking about such things now after six thousand years.

Because that feeling of love in the air – it was very similar to what Aziraphale felt for Crowley, he thought. It felt devoted, unshakable, whole. Passionate in a way that angels weren’t supposed to love, because angelic love was supposed to be so pure and clean that it didn’t always feel like love at all. And Aziraphale had come to realize that he had loved Crowley for a long, long time, even if it had taken him thousands of years to admit it, so he supposed that he shouldn’t have been surprised that a human body, even if it was frozen in time, had to have urges eventually.

But he shouldn’t intrude on such a tender moment like this. He allowed a small miracle to guarantee that the happy couple wouldn’t be disturbed and continued on his way.

“You look…different,” Crowley commented when Aziraphale returned triumphantly with snacks about ten minutes later.

“Different?” Aziraphale asked, trying not to betray the fact that he had been thinking about kissing Crowley for the past ten minutes. He handed Crowley two little crab cakes on a napkin and took the last bite of his own flatbread, which he had mostly finished on his way back from the servers.

“Yeah. I dunno.” Crowley scrunched up his nose and peered at the angel closely. “Flushed.”

“Oh. I suppose it must be quite warm. Eat your crab cakes,” Aziraphale said.

“Mm.” Crowley took a bite of one of his cakes, chewed, swallowed, and looked closely at Aziraphale again. “You alright?”

“Yes,” Aziraphale said.

“You sure?”

“Yes,” Aziraphale said again. And then, as Crowley took another bite of crab cake, he blurted out, “Do best friends kiss each other?”

Crowley stopped chewing. “Huh?”

Aziraphale took a deep breath. His heart was beating very fast. “I said, do best friends kiss each other?”

Crowley’s eyebrows had traveled a rather impressive distance up his forehead. “Um.” He finished chewing, swallowed, leaned back against the balcony railing, and set his second cake down beside him. “I don’t think so, no. Not in my experience, anyway.”

“Your experience?”

Crowley actually flushed. “Not my personal experience, Angel, don’t get yourself worked up. I just mean – you know, when people say they’re ‘just friends,’ even if they’re best friends, they mean that they don’t…that they…I dunno, that physical affection is off-limits. That they don’t _do_ that. Other than hugging, I suppose, but that’s not really sexual.” He huffed. “Obviously, it’s stupid to restrict yourselves to labels and in the end it’s all just about letting others know the details of your personal lives – nosiness, that’s thanks to my lot. And the whole human obsession with labels, that’s my lot too.”

“Ah,” Aziraphale said. He paused. “We…we _are_ best friends, right?”

“Yes,” Crowley said slowly. His eyebrows were still raised. “I thought that was obvious.”

“And…and best friends care about each other. They love each other,” Aziraphale said.

“Yes.”

Aziraphale frowned. “But kissing is off-limits.”

“Angel, if you’re asking if you can kiss me –”

“Absolutely not,” Aziraphale said quickly. “It was merely a question that arose out of curiosity, it has nothing to do with us at all.”

That was, of course, a big fat lie, and Aziraphale knew it. He wondered if Crowley knew it too, even if the demon didn’t say anything about it. But that was the moment when Aziraphale started to think that maybe, just maybe, he wished that they were more than best friends.

4.

“What do you suppose you’re going to do, now that the whole war is averted and we aren’t taking orders from high office anymore?” Aziraphale asked. They were in the back row in the theater to watch a movie and the previews would still be playing for another three minutes at least.

Crowley shrugged. “I dunno. Whatever I want, I guess. Kind of what I’ve already been doing, you know? A lot to do in London.”

Aziraphale frowned, paused. “In London, all the time?”

“Wherever. Doesn’t matter. I can go anywhere. France, China, the Americas…ooh, the northeastern United States is supposedly quite beautiful this time of year.”

“Alpha Centauri?” Aziraphale asked quietly, because that was the first thing that had sprung to his mind, and then he stopped abruptly because he remembered that Crowley didn’t like thinking about Armageddon and Armageddon was when Crowley had asked Aziraphale to run off with him to Alpha Centauri and Aziraphale had said no, and he wasn’t sure if asking about Alpha Centauri now would bring up those memories that Crowley didn’t like to think about.

But Crowley just glanced at him, his lips quirked in a small smile. “Why would I want to go to Alpha Centauri? That whole mess is over now, Angel. We’re fine where we are.” He paused. “Unless _you_ wanted to go to Alpha Centauri?”

“Me? Oh, no,” Aziraphale said. “I find that I’m perfectly happy here in London for now. I don’t plan on going anywhere.”

“Good.” Crowley looked back at the screen. “Feel like life would get quite boring without you.”

Aziraphale swallowed. “I…feel the same way.” He swallowed again. “To think of how different things would be if we hadn’t met.”

“Or if I hadn’t thought you were worth sticking around,” Crowley mused.

Aziraphale huffed a laugh. “Yes, that too, I suppose.” He paused. “I don’t think I would have enjoyed these past six thousand years nearly as much as I have, if I hadn’t met you.”

“What, even though you spent the first five thousand of them denying that you knew me?” Crowley asked, with an amused grin.

Aziraphale flushed. “Well – well that was different. I had to keep up appearances, you know.”

“Hm.” Crowley still sounded amused. “Don’t think you fooled anyone.”

“No, I suppose not.”

The theater darkened then, and both of them fell silent. The movie was supposed to be a rather good one, and the only reason there were so few people in the theater was because they’d picked an odd time of day to see it – early afternoon on a Tuesday, when almost everyone was still at work or at school. Aziraphale was grateful for that; it meant that he could lean a little closer to Crowley, and it meant that they were all alone at the top of the theater, and it meant that he could pretend that it was just them there.

“That was stupid,” Crowley said some time after the movie started, when the main character did something truly stupid involving a pretty girl. “But I like the animation style. I’ll give it that.”

“Oh, I’m sure you like it more than you let on,” Aziraphale said.

Crowley just shrugged, but Aziraphale could see a faint smile on the demon’s face.

The movie was indeed rather good – more than rather good, in fact. By the time it was half an hour in Aziraphale had already given it a dedicated spot in his top five favorite movies of all time, even though superhero movies and comic books-turned-movies usually weren’t his genre. He also really quite liked the soundtrack, even though he usually always preferred classical music or gentle jazz to hip-hop and rap.

He turned to say something to Crowley as the main character successfully finessed his way into getting something he wanted, only to find that the demon was already looking at him, and judging by the expression on his face, had been looking at him for some time now.

Aziraphale stopped, blinked, and promptly forgot what he was going to say.

“Watch the movie, Angel,” Crowley said, still looking at him.

“What about you?” Aziraphale asked, when he’d figured out how to speak again. Crowley had taken off his sunglasses, and his eyes were a bright gold in the darkness. Aziraphale seemed to be caught in them.

Crowley was resting his chin on one hand and shrugged with his other shoulder. “Seen it before.”

“You – then why did you agree to see it again?”

“Because you wanted to. Now watch the movie, Angel.”

Aziraphale did. He felt Crowley’s gaze on him the whole time.

There was a moment later in the movie that involved involuntary invisibility, involuntary sticking, and out-of-place humming, and Aziraphale found that particularly amusing. He laughed, utterly delighted, and then felt Crowley’s hand brush against his own.

His laugh caught in his throat.

Crowley nudged his hand again, tentatively entwined their fingers together when Aziraphale didn’t pull away. Aziraphale could see Crowley watching him out of the corner of his eye.

“Is this okay?” Crowley whispered.

Aziraphale swallowed, nodded once jerkily. His heart was hammering in his chest, and judging from the lightheadedness that was mounting, he seemed to have forgotten how to breathe.

Crowley huffed a laugh. “Then relax, Angel. You’re stiff as a brick right now.”

“Right,” Aziraphale managed. “Yes, I suppose I am.”

Crowley laughed again.

He tried to relax and failed spectacularly. Crowley had started rubbing gentle circles into the back of his hand with his thumb, and the feeling was maddening. Aziraphale thought the demon leaned in a little closer too, and his smell – spice, ash, and a bit of honey – was intoxicating.

Crowley was very close indeed. Aziraphale forced himself to breathe, and keep his eyes on the screen in front of them, and tried very hard not to think about kissing Crowley.

Or Crowley kissing him, for that matter.

“That was fun,” Aziraphale said as they walked out of the theater, even though he really didn’t remember much of the movie.

“The movie? Yeah, I liked it,” Crowley said.

Aziraphale flushed, stammered a bit when he spoke. “I meant…I meant the other thing. The holding hands.”

“Oh.” Crowley glanced at him, grinned a bit at the blush Aziraphale knew was covering his cheeks. “We can do that more, if you want.”

“Yes,” Aziraphale said quickly. Too quickly. He cleared his throat. “Yes, I think I’d like that.”

Crowley’s grin widened, and he held out his hand.

Aziraphale’s flush deepened. He took the offered hand with his own, felt Crowley give him a light squeeze.

So best friends might not kiss, but they could hold hands.

Aziraphale was okay with that.

5.

Aziraphale and Crowley were visiting Anathema and Adam one weekend, when Adam was turning twelve and had invited them all to his birthday party. The Them were there too, of course, as well as Newt, who usually stayed very close to Anathema. Both of them seemed to enjoy the proximity, and the feeling that surrounded both of them seemed very similar to that which Aziraphale had sensed around many young persons engaged in a romantic relationship.

“You’re a very nice couple,” Aziraphale said to Anathema as they stood by the edge of the yard. The Them were all playing a game that Aziraphale didn’t quite understand because the rules seemed to keep changing all the time, Crowley was several feet away musing over which juice he wanted (no alcoholic drinks allowed at a young child’s birthday party), and Newt was inside helping Adam’s parents put candles on the cake.

Anathema blinked. “We? Couple? Who?”

“You and Newt,” Aziraphale said, thinking that should have been obvious.

“Newt? Oh, we’re not a couple,” Anathema said, with a bit of a blush, and lowered her voice when she spoke again. “We’re just…friends with benefits. For now, I mean. I think we both want to be officially together but neither of us have said anything yet. So for now we’re still just friends with benefits.”

Aziraphale frowned. “Friends with benefits? What does that mean?” Didn’t friendship come with enough benefits? Were there different levels of friendship that he didn’t know about? Other than, well, friends and best friends, obviously.

Anathema was definitely blushing now, and she lowered her voice even more. “Um. Well, it means that you’re friends, obviously, but that you also…well, you do each other favors.”

Favors.

Well, he and Crowley had certainly done multiple favors for each other over the centuries, hadn’t they? There was the Arrangement, for one, which was responsible for many of those favors, and then there was the number of times Crowley had done things for Aziraphale. Saving him from the guillotine, saving him from getting promoted back up to Heaven and having to leave Earth and his beloved bookshop for the foreseeable future (a long time, when you’re immortal), saving him and his books ( _and_ his books!!) from Nazis in a church (in a _church_!!).

Aziraphale’s cheeks colored. Crowley had done quite a lot for him, really, and now that he thought about it, Aziraphale didn’t think he’d done the same for Crowley. Bringing him holy water didn’t really count, especially since it was something that Crowley could’ve gotten hurt with.

Anathema cleared her throat. “Well, maybe favors isn’t the right word. It’s, well, basically, you’re friends but you do things that make you seem like you’re more than friends but you don’t put a label on it. No commitment, you know. That sort of thing.”

“So you must be very close with each other, if you’re friends with benefits,” Aziraphale said.

“Um, you could put it that way, yes. Now can we talk about something else? Or you could ask Crowley, I’m sure he knows and could explain it better. Look, he’s coming over now, what perfect timing!” And then she scurried away towards the house.

Ask Crowley – well, he supposed the demon _would_ have a good idea of what it was. It seemed to be another one of the silly human labels, after all, and that had all been thanks to Crowley’s lot.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said, a few minutes later, when they were standing by the desserts (well, Aziraphale was lingering near the rather scrumptious desserts and Crowley had followed him there with a cup of his chosen juice in hand) and he had finally mustered up the courage to ask. He was always nervous about asking Crowley about relationships, probably because he fancied a closer relationship with the demon but wasn’t sure if the demon wanted the same. Even though they did hold hands more frequently than before, and even though sometimes he did feel Crowley brushing up against him when they walked side by side. “Crowley, I have a question.”

“Hmm?”

“What are friends with benefits?”

Crowley shrugged. “Another silly human label.” (Ah, so Aziraphale was right!) “Honestly, it’s just what it sounds like. Generally means that you’re friends, obviously, but that you have…benefits. Well, what humans consider benefits, anyway.”

“Like what?”

“Like – like intimacy, I suppose,” Crowley said. There was a hint of pink on his cheeks.

“Intimacy…like closeness,” Aziraphale said. They were metaphors, after all.

Crowley tilted his head, ran his hand through his hair. “I suppose you could say that, yeah.”

“Ah.” Aziraphale paused, blinked, swallowed. “We’re close, aren’t we?”

Crowley’s cheeks were definitely pinker than usual now, and he took a sip of his drink before answering. “Um. Yes?”

Aziraphale paused again, frowned. “So does that make us friends with benefits?”

Crowley promptly choked on his orange juice. “ _No_ , Angel,” he said, when he’d recovered from coughing. “We’re friends, yes, but not…not like that.”

“I thought you said –”

“Sex, Angel,” Crowley interrupted. “Intimacy as in sex. We don’t have sex. Never have, never have even expressed any _interest_ in having sex. That doesn’t mean we _can’t_ –” He broke off. His face was beet red.

There was a very long, very awkward silence.

“Just best friends, then,” Aziraphale said quietly, and Crowley nodded.

+1

Aziraphale found himself at Crowley’s place one night approximately a month after that particular discussion. It was a bit of an accident this time; Anathema had brought him homemade biscuits while she was in the area with Newt, and, seeing that Crowley wasn’t in the bookstore, had asked Aziraphale to pass a few along to Crowley as well. Aziraphale couldn’t refuse, so here he was, knocking on Crowley’s door half an hour later.

“The fuck do you – oh,” Crowley said, when he opened the door. Aziraphale saw his expression change from annoyance to surprise. “Hello, Angel.”

“Hello, Crowley,” Aziraphale said, and held out the basket he was carrying. “Biscuits?”

“Um.” Crowley blinked, hesitated for a moment, and then stepped back. “Why don’t you come inside?”

“That would be nice, thank you.” Aziraphale stepped inside beside Crowley, removing his shoes because it seemed the polite thing to do on the clean polished floors. He followed Crowley into the kitchen where he gestured for Aziraphale to put the biscuits on the table and stood there awkwardly as Crowley fetched a bottle of wine out of one of his cabinets.

“You’re up late,” Aziraphale observed.

Crowley sniffed. “Well, I wasn’t planning to be until you came knocking on my door. Wine? I’m gonna have some, anyway.”

“I’d love some, thank you,” Aziraphale said. “And sorry about that, I know you like your sleep, I should have waited –”

“Ah, don’t worry about it, Angel,” Crowley said, waving away his apology (which was a little concerning, because he had his own glass of wine in the hand he was waving and the liquid was sloshing around dangerously). “I’d never pass up free fresh biscuits. You know, I think some of your fondness for human food is beginning to rub off on me. Only a little, though,” he added with a pointed look. “I’m very, very specific about what I like.”

“They’re from Anathema,” Aziraphale said about the biscuits, accepting the glass that Crowley held out and taking a sip. It was excellent wine, rich and aromatic and evidently aged for a long time. “She stopped by my shop earlier but you weren’t there, and she didn’t have enough time to head all the way here before she had to go back to Tadfield.”

“Mm. Shame,” Crowley said. He paused. “Are you headed back to your place now, or…? Well, after the wine, obviously.”

Aziraphale hesitated. “Well, I don’t have plans, but I was originally just going to drop off the basket and head back, yes. I know I disturbed you, I’m really quite sorry –”

“Oh, shut up about that, Angel,” Crowley said, rolling his eyes. “It’s really not that big a deal. From the way you’re going on about it I’d think you’d discorporated me or something. C’mon, you’re here and I’m up so you might as well stay for a while. Wanna watch something? You brought snacks, I’ve got Netflix and wine.”

Aziraphale brightened, following Crowley into the next room. “Great British Bakeoff is on Netflix, isn’t it?”

“Ha! I thought you’d say that. Mary talks a bit like you, you know,” Crowley said, plopping down on one end of the long white leather couch in front of the TV and turning the screen on, miraculously still not spilling his wine in the process. “Always saying things like ‘ooh, this tart is absolutely scrummy’ or ‘what a charming little pastry!’”

“You watch Great British Bakeoff too?” Aziraphale asked, more than a little delighted.

“A guilty pleasure,” Crowley admitted reluctantly. “It’s got angelic influence written all over it. Now come on, bring the biscuits and sit down.”

Aziraphale did so, settling himself onto the couch much more carefully than Crowley had; he didn’t want to risk spilling wine, even if he could have easily miracled the stain away. There was about two feet of space between him and Crowley, and after starting the episode, putting his sunglasses down on the table, and picking a few biscuits from the basket, Crowley settled back into his corner of the couch.

Aziraphale couldn’t help wishing the demon had settled himself against him, instead.

But never mind that. They were best friends, nothing more. Crowley had made that amply clear.

Even despite Aziraphale’s wandering thoughts, the episode was delightful; even Crowley thought so, and asked if Aziraphale wanted to watch another one when it was over. (Aziraphale said yes, of course. Great British Bakeoff was one of his favorite shows, up there with anything David Attenborough narrated and the original Star Trek series.) Crowley had poured them each another glass of wine, fetched another few biscuits from the basket, and stretched out just a bit so his feet were pressed against Aziraphale’s thigh.

Aziraphale felt his corporeal heart rate spike alarmingly once, and then again when, a few minutes later, Crowley stretched out even more in his corner to rest his legs atop Aziraphale’s.

Aziraphale almost forgot to breathe. The demon was _very_ warm, and the heat was very distracting. He took an overlarge sip of wine to steady himself, another overlarge sip to finish the last of the wine since the first overlarge sip didn’t seem to have been enough, and when he looked at his hand holding the glass, it was trembling ever so slightly.

Ah. Best not to hold anything that could break, then. He set the glass back down.

He told himself that he should focus on the show. It was an excellent show, after all, and it was so wonderful to watch all of these amateur bakers make such delightful things and rise to each new challenge. But he could feel Crowley’s warmth against him, could see him lounging so comfortably out of the corner of his eye, and once again, could not stop thinking about what it would be like to lean over and kiss him.

Aziraphale had not actually kissed anyone or anything before. He’d never felt the urge to. But he supposed there had to be a first for everything, and it was getting harder and harder to deny that he wanted this particular first to be with Crowley.

“You alright, Angel?” Crowley asked, about halfway through the episode. “You haven’t moved for the past twenty minutes.”

“What – oh. Yes. Yes, I’m quite alright,” Aziraphale said. He felt a blush heating his cheeks. “Must be too engrossed in the show, that’s all.”

Crowley watched him for another few moments. “Hm,” he said finally. “Okay.”

Aziraphale swallowed and tried to control his breathing. When the episode was over, he didn’t remember anything that had happened.

Beside him, Crowley yawned and stretched, catlike. He heaved a sigh of contentment, finished off the last dredges of his wine, and blinked at Aziraphale. His yellow eyes were bright in the gloom. “You headed back to your place now?”

Crowley’s legs were still resting atop Aziraphale’s. Aziraphale cleared his throat, nodded. “Yes, I suppose I should be getting back. It’s quite late now, after all.”

Crowley still hadn’t moved; Aziraphale glanced over at him, and the demon looked at him for a few long moments before saying, quietly, “You could stay here tonight.”

“S-stay here?”

Crowley shrugged, finally removing his legs from Aziraphale’s lap and standing. He stretched again. “Yeah, if you want. I’ve got enough room on the bed.”

Aziraphale blinked. “On the bed?”

Crowley rolled his eyes. “Well I’m not going to make you sleep on the couch.”

“Oh – of course.” Aziraphale swallowed, took a risk. Probably the biggest risk he’d taken in six thousand years. “I’d…I’d quite like that, actually. Staying here, I mean, not sleeping on the couch,” he added quickly, because he realized that his answer might have sounded slightly ambiguous.

Crowley snorted a laugh. “I know what you mean, Angel.” He picked up his and Aziraphale’s empty and now miraculously clean glasses of wine from the table and tilted his head in the direction of the kitchen. “I’ll just put them back in the cupboard. Bedroom’s that way through the hall, on your right at the end. I don’t suppose you’ve got a set of pajamas? No? Well, I might have some actual ones in the drawers, but feel free to miracle yourself a pair.”

Aziraphale was very much in the habit of supporting small local businesses whenever he could, which meant that he always tried to buy what he needed instead of just miracling it into existence. But one look through Crowley’s drawers told him that he would probably be better off miracling himself a pair of pajamas rather than wearing dark silk ones that were a size too small for him. Even if he could miracle them into being the right size.

It just felt _weird_ to be wearing someone else’s clothes.

Crowley walked into the room a few moments after Aziraphale had decided on what he felt to be an appropriate set of pajamas for himself. He had chosen a set of black silk shorts, and that was it.

Aziraphale felt his face heating up.

“Don’t tell me you’re going to sleep in _that_ ,” Crowley said with a bit of a scoff, eyeing Aziraphale’s head-to-toe pale oatmeal cotton.

Aziraphale thought they were very nice, thank you very much. “They’re comfortable,” he said, because they really were. A bit different from what he was used to, and much lighter and more breathable than what he was accustomed to wearing, but once he got past the part where he felt rather more naked than usual, they seemed perfectly fine to lay down in.

Crowley stared at him for another few moments, and then rolled his eyes and hopped onto the bed. It sunk down slightly under his weight. “You _are_ going to sleep, right?”

“Well –” Aziraphale broke off. He hadn’t actually slept for a while now; he didn’t need to (technically, Crowley didn’t either, but the demon liked to) and he’d always had other things he wanted to do, like read books. But he was at Crowley’s place now, and the demon wanted to sleep, and he couldn’t very well lie awake next to him the whole night, could he?

Oh dear.

Next to him.

And he had so much _skin_ on display.

Aziraphale swallowed.

“I have books, if you want to read instead,” Crowley said. He had stretched out on his back now but only across one side of the bed, leaving the other side free for Aziraphale to occupy if he wished.

“I’ll try to sleep, I think,” Aziraphale said, and sat down uncertainly on his side of the bed. “But I’m not entirely sure how.”

“Oh.” Crowley frowned, turned his head to look at him. His eyes glinted bright yellow. “Um. Well, you close your eyes, first of all. Then you just…well, then you really just pretend to be asleep until you actually fall asleep. Try not to think about things and such. It’s pretty straightforward.”

It didn’t really _sound_ that straightforward, Aziraphale thought. It certainly didn’t seem like a straightforward concept to pretend to be asleep if he didn’t even really know what being asleep was like. But he supposed that his human body would know what to do soon enough, if he would let it.

Crowley had burrowed himself under the covers and lay curled on his side, just the top of his nose and his eyes peeking out from underneath. (Aziraphale briefly thought of burritos.) Aziraphale settled in next to him, pulling the covers up to his chest and dutifully closing his eyes.

Nothing happened. He supposed it must take some time.

“Angel,” Crowley said, after a few moments, his voice muffled by the blankets.

“Yes, dear?”

Crowley cleared his throat, sounded slightly sheepish. “Could you turn the lights off?”

Aziraphale opened his eyes. “Oh. Yes.” He snapped his fingers and the lights, already dim, shut off completely. He didn’t ask why Crowley couldn’t have just done it himself.

“Thanks, Angel.”

“Of course, Crowley.”

The demon closed his eyes. Aziraphale didn’t. He could see Crowley in the dim moonlight that was filtering through the curtains; the blanketed mound that was the demon shifted slightly up and down with his breaths, and the frown that was so prevalent when he was awake had smoothed out. He looked at Crowley’s face (or at least, what he could see of it), looked at the straight line of his nose, the very light, very faint dusting of freckles along his cheekbones. He looked at the long lashes, the red hair curled luxuriously over the pillow.

Distantly, Aziraphale wondered how soft it was, and if Crowley would notice if he touched it.

He didn’t even know if the demon was asleep yet.

Better not, then.

He couldn’t fall asleep. There was too much happening in his brain; he wasn’t accustomed to trying not to think about things, as Crowley had instructed him. And he was perfectly content to lay here next to Crowley and watch him, look over him. Sleeping was so vulnerable, after all – there was no telling what anyone or anything could do when you weren’t awake and paying attention. It would be so easy to get hurt. So easy for _Crowley_ to get hurt. Hastur and Ligur had found him in his flat, after all, and it was only thanks to the holy water Aziraphale had given him and some quick wits and a whole lot of luck that Crowley had escaped.

“Angel,” Crowley mumbled. His eyes were still closed.

“Yes, Crowley?”

“You’re not sleeping.”

“No,” Aziraphale admitted. “No, I’m not.”

“Hm.” The demon was silent for a few moments, and then he said, “You’re watching me.”

“What? Oh, yes, I suppose I am,” Aziraphale said, feeling a bit embarrassed. Crowley hadn’t opened his eyes, but he’d forgotten that Crowley had the uncanny ability to sense when he was being watched. “I’ll stop,” he said, and turned his head to look at the ceiling.

There was a muffled laugh. “You don’t have to lie here all night, you know. You can get up and read if you want.”

“I know,” Aziraphale said. He glanced at Crowley, who had opened his eyes now. “I’d prefer to stay here, though, if that’s alright.”

Crowley blinked. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “Yeah, ‘s alright.”

Aziraphale felt a smile spread itself across his face.

“Like it when you smile,” Crowley mumbled.

Aziraphale’s heart jumped. “I find that I smile a lot when I’m with you,” he said, and then stopped abruptly, because that sounded like a confession and feelings, and he wasn’t sure if that was something Crowley wanted to talk about. He was a demon, and of course Crowley was different from other demons, he could feel and he really was a good person and he was _more_ than capable of caring, but he’d always said that he was supposed to do certain things because he was a demon and everyone knew demons weren’t supposed to love, and even if they were, he’d always stayed away from the kind of sappy romance which was exactly how Aziraphale felt for him.

He took a shuddering breath, because that was what it was, wasn’t it? He loved Crowley more than anything. He wanted to hold the demon’s hand and kiss as they walked by the river in the park, he wanted to go on lunch dates and dinner dates and breakfast dates and everything in between, he wanted to share _everything_ with him. And that was exactly the kind of sappy romance that Crowley always turned his nose up against, called it ridiculous and heavenly and not for him.

But then he felt a hand on his wrist, and looked down to see that Crowley had reached out.

“Better stay with me forever, then,” Crowley said softly.

Aziraphale swallowed. He looked at Crowley’s hand on his wrist, at Crowley’s bright yellow eyes fixed on him, back at Crowley’s hand, back at Crowley’s eyes.

He swallowed again. “Crowley, I –”

“Unless you don’t want to,” Crowley said quickly, and he began to draw away.

“No!” Aziraphale reached out without thinking, caught Crowley’s retreating hand with his own. The demon froze, and Aziraphale’s mouth was suddenly very, very dry. “I mean yes,” he said, his heart hammering in his chest. “I do…I do want to stay. Forever. I want to stay very much.” There was a huge finality about that word, ‘forever.’ But he said it, and it fit perfectly in his mouth because it was about Crowley, and he knew that he meant it.

He saw Crowley swallow.

“My dear, I…all of those things I asked you, about relationships,” Aziraphale began, and then broke off, took several deep breaths. He was facing Crowley now, and the demon’s bright gaze stared into his own, past his eyes and deep into his soul, and he couldn’t help but let the next words come. “I asked you all of those things because I…I want to be more. More than what we already are, I mean. And I know it’s taken me a while,” he added with a bit of an embarrassed laugh. “Honestly, I don’t know what I was thinking, or how I didn’t see it for what it was for so long. I’m an angel, after all, I’m supposed to be able to recognize these things, but I suppose I’m quite blind when it comes to…to us.” The last two words came out in a bit of a nervous rush, because how would the demon react to that? What would he think about Aziraphale referring to them as _them_ , not just an angel and a demon who happened to agree to be on the same side?

Crowley was staring at him, his lips slightly parted in shock. It seemed as if he had forgotten to breathe.

Aziraphale swallowed. “Crowley?”

“I love you,” Crowley blurted out, and Aziraphale’s breath hitched in his throat.

There were a few moments of silence, during which Crowley’s vocal cords seemed to have stopped working and Aziraphale scrambled desperately for something appropriate to say in response.

“I love you,” Crowley said finally, his voice quiet and shaking ever so slightly, “and I would very, very much like for you to kiss me.”

Aziraphale took a shuddering breath. “My dear, that’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

He saw Crowley’s eyes widen in the moment before he leaned forward and pressed their lips together. The demon was hot, his lips like fire but sweeter than anything Aziraphale had ever tasted and softer than anything Aziraphale had ever touched. It was better than anything Aziraphale had ever known or imagined.

“Oh, my dear,” Aziraphale sighed into Crowley’s mouth, and the demon whined and pulled him closer, running his fingers through Aziraphale’s hair and touching his face and holding the angel to his chest.

“I love you,” Crowley said again.

“My dear Crowley, I want to stay here and kiss you forever and ever. I don’t want to ever stop.”

“Then don’t stop,” Crowley gasped, and kept kissing him.

“I think that’s what I was asking,” Aziraphale mumbled against Crowley’s lips, and they were touching even more now, the lengths of their bodies pressed against each other and Crowley scrambling out from under the blankets to touch him closer.

“What?”

“When I asked if best friends kissed each other,” Aziraphale said, and Crowley’s lips were on his jaw and on his neck now, sucking bruises and nipping and doing all sorts of things with his tongue that Aziraphale didn’t even know was possible and Aziraphale’s body _burned_. “Some time ago. I asked if best friends kissed each other because you said we were best friends which was _wonderful_ but then I saw two young men kissing each other and I wanted to do that with you but I was too afraid to try and I wasn’t even sure if it was _allowed_ for best friends to kiss each other, so I asked you and you said no and then you asked if I meant to ask if I could kiss you and I was embarrassed and I said no, but I think I meant to say yes, I wanted to kiss you very much and I was trying to ask –”

“Angel,” Crowley said, pulling back for the first time since they’d started kissing and looking him in the eye.

“Yes?”

“Shut up and just kiss me then.”

Aziraphale did.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [in which labels are finnicky things [Podfic]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19749823) by [StarcatcherBetty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarcatcherBetty/pseuds/StarcatcherBetty)




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